Love Wins Out
by foreverbm
Summary: A different look at the Needle Scene, told from both Ben and Michael's POV's.


LOVE WINS OUT

I walked in the door and wondered why there were no lights on. I looked up and saw Michael sitting in the chair, "What are you doing sitting in the dark?" I asked.

"Waiting for you" he replied quietly.

"I told you I was working out."

He didn't say anything, just looked at me. I walked into the bedroom and began unpacking my gym bag, throwing my sweaty clothes into the laundry hamper before returning to the living room.

I looked at Michael and this time noticed he was holding something in his hand. I began to move towards him and then realized what it was -- a needle.

"Where did you get that?" I asked, trying to stay calm, my eyes fixed on it and I felt myself begin to sweat.

"I found it, wrapped up in the garbage" he answered and I watched with horror as he moved it towards his wrist.

"Michael!"

He looked at me and then at the needle and began to talk. I tried to take in what he was saying but all I could see was that needle, close to his skin, his hand shaking slightly. I went to take a step towards him and then stopped; thinking any movement could startle him, make his hand slip.

I looked at him and I could see his lips moving; his eyes full of pain and beginning to brim with tears and I try to make myself listen to what he is saying but all I can think is that I have brought us to this place; to where the man that I love is sitting in front of me holding a death sentence in his hand.

"Michael, please."

"Please what?"

"Put it down!"

He looks at the needle in his hand and then at me and the anger I see in his eyes terrifies me. His voice, when he starts talking, is flat and dead and I wonder if there is anything I can say that can reach him.

"I love you Ben, but I don't know if I can do this anymore. I don't want to be scared of you, not knowing which you it is when you walk in the door. I have tried so fucking hard to understand but you just shut me out."

He stands up holding the needle in front of him and walks towards me. I want to reach out and grab the needle and pull him into my arms but the look in his eyes stops me dead in my tracks.

"This shit is going to kill you and I don't know if I can stay here and watch it happen."

He threw the needle to the ground, standing on it, and I hear it break into a hundred pieces as he pushes past me, grabbing his coat and walks out the door slamming it behind him.

His words are echoing in my head and as much as I want to rush after him I seem unable to move. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself and bend down, beginning to pick up the remains of the shattered needle. I carry them to the kitchen and drop them into the garbage - remove the bag and reach on top of the fridge for something to tie it up with. My hand knocks against something hard and I manage to grab at it as it slides off the top of the fridge heading for the floor.

I turn it over in my hand and find myself looking at a photo of Michael that I had framed a while back. I wonder why it is amongst all the junk on top of the fridge and then remembered how Michael had begged me to get rid of it; how he thought it made him look like he was 12, but I loved it. I had taken it in an unguarded moment, his hair was windblown and his head thrown back; you could almost hear the laughter bubbling out of him. I run my fingers over his face as I slowly walk back to the living room and sit down. I close my eyes, trying to make myself relax but all I can see is the image of him sitting here holding that needle in his hand and his words ringing in my head.

I know how hard he had tried to understand the effect Paul's death had on me, making me wonder about my own mortality but instead of talking to him, telling him of my fears -- I pushed him away every time he tried to talk to me about it and no matter how much hurt I saw in his eyes, I kept pushing and pushing until we ended up here.

I opened my eyes and looked at the photo again and tried to recall when I last remember seeing Michael laugh like that and know that it is has been a while; since before Paul died and I decided that using steroids was my salvation - the answer to all my worries and fears. How could I, me, someone who always professed to live in the now; believe that this was the answer. All it has done is turn me into someone that the man I love more than life itself is scared of. And now he has gone.

I walk down the steps and onto the street and stop as the reality of what I almost did hits me with such force that I feel physically sick. I lean against the fence, waiting for the nausea to subside and think would I, could I, have done it and I can't answer that thought. All I know is that I had to do something to stop him hurting himself and hurting us.

An icy blast of wind whips around me and I know if I stand here any longer I will freeze to death. I pull my coat tightly around me and dig my hands deeper into my pockets and begin to walk, with no idea where I am going, just knowing that I have to get away from here.

The images of what I just did keep playing over and over in my mind and thoughts of that needle so close to my skin send a shiver down my spine.

Did I get through to him or did the steroids have such a hold, that nothing I could do or say would bring the Ben that I fell in love with back to me.

I just knew I had to do something; that everything else I had tried -- talking to him, trying to tell him that I wanted to understand what he was feeling, had failed. All I know is that I want the Ben whose eyes were always full of love and laughter, not mistrust and anger, back.

This Ben scared me. The way he could change in an instant, say things to me that hurt so much and although every now and then I saw a flicker of regret in his eyes for what he had said and I held my breath, hoping he may apologize and start talking to me, the shutters came down and he was once again unreachable.

I feel tears sting at my eyes and I brush them away in anger and tell myself that I am not going to fall apart; I am going to be strong. Once before I fought so hard to get him back and I know that I will do that again.

I turn and retrace my steps back to the apartment, wondering will he still be there. Do I want him to be; will I accept which 'him' it is and I know the answer is yes. He is as much a part of me as breathing and my life without him in it would be intolerable.

I trudge wearily up the steps; I am so cold I wonder if I will ever feel warm again.

I open the door slowly with an equal amount of fear and longing. The place appears to be in darkness and my heart stops beating for a moment, thinking he has gone. I shut the door and take off my coat; my numb fingers struggling with each button and let it fall to the floor.

I take a few steps and see a dim light shining from our bedroom. With my heart in my throat I walk towards it, not knowing what I will find. He is sitting on the bed, holding something in his hands and my eyes dart from him to the floor where a pile of smashed needles and vials lay.

He lifts his head and looks at me and the sadness in his eyes makes my heart break.

"I didn't know if you would be here" I say.

"I didn't know if you would want me to be" he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Ben…"

"No Michael…let me speak, please…I know that saying sorry will never be enough to make things right and for you to forgive me for the way I have been over the last weeks; I know I should have talked to you, told you how I was feeling."

"So, tell me now" I say and walk over to the bed and sit down next to him. I want to reach out and touch him but I'm still afraid of him pushing me away.

"I guess when Paul died, it brought it all so close to home; I know that it will happen to me and I suppose I thought that the steroids would somehow put off the inevitable -- make it all somehow go away."

"And did it?"

"No... They just turned me into someone I didn't know anymore; someone who you were afraid of and beginning to hate."

"I could never hate you. I just wanted you to talk to me, let me in -- tell me of your fears, but you just pushed me away more and more, until I didn't know what to do or how to reach you anymore."

"When I walked in tonight and saw you sitting there with the needle, I have never been so scared in my life -- all I could think was that I had brought you to do this, to risk your life and then I realized that you take that risk every day, every time we make love, it could happen."

"I knew the risks when I made the decision to be with you and I have never regretted that for a moment and if it were to happen, I would never blame you."

"But I would blame myself; I couldn't live with myself if that happened."

"We're always careful, you know that. We do everything we possibly can to make sure that never happens."

"I know that, but I always have this nagging doubt that maybe it could and it scares me to death."

"What about what you are always telling me, about living in the now?"

"I do that, but I guess somewhere inside of me there's that craving to want to have a future with you and when Paul died, I felt that even that little bit of hope was taken away from me and I was so angry at him, not just for dying but for giving it to me and more than anything for putting you at risk"

"And using the steroids - how was that going to change any of this?"

"I don't know but at the time it seemed to be the answer. I thought they would make me invincible, make all of my fears go away and no matter how much I knew deep down that using them wasn't going to change anything, I couldn't stop."

"Did you want to?"

"Oh God yes -- every time I said something to you and saw the hurt in your eyes at my words, I wanted to. I wanted to tell you of my fears but I thought…"

"That I wouldn't understand?"

"Yes."

I reached over and took his hand in mine and was surprised to find it as ice cold as my own.

"I don't have it, so yes, you are right. That part of it I don't understand, but I know how scared I get every time you get a cold or the flu… but I make myself remember what you once told me -- to stop regretting the past and fearing the future and I try to live by that, because the alternative is terrifying to me."

"I didn't know you thought like that."

"I try to. I sometimes imagine what the future will be like, celebrating 10 years together, but not often. It would be like I was jinxing it, so I try to just be grateful for every day that we have together."

"When did you become so philosophical?"

"When I met you and you taught me to live for the moment, because it is all we have."

I felt his hand tighten on mine and I could see the beginning of tears in his eyes.

"I love you Michael. I don't think I tell you that enough and I should. I can't imagine what my life would be like without you in it."

I take a deep breath and ask the question which I have been dreading, "So what happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

I look down and the broken needles on the floor and back at him.

"I've stopped using it Michael."

"And the next time -- when someone else you know dies?"

"I will talk to you; I will never put you through this again…when you walked out the door it felt like my whole world had collapsed."

He turned over what he had been holding in his hand and I saw it was that photo that seemed to have been taken so long ago.

He looked at me and that smile that can brighten my darkest day briefly crosses his face.

"I want all our days to be like this, full of laughter and happiness -- not to be filled with thoughts of things we can never change."

"I want that too."

I take him into my arms as his sobs rack his body and I know they are tears of past mistakes that can never be undone and a future of which he has no control over and my heart breaks for him.

As my own tears begin to silently fall, I hold onto the thought that whatever the future holds for us, we will face it as it was always meant to be, together….forever.


End file.
